


Snapshots of Time XVII

by hummerhouse



Series: Snapshots of Time [17]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drabble Collection, Humor, Multi, Turtlecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 16:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5709907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummerhouse/pseuds/hummerhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: The TMNT are not mine. No money being made.<br/>Word Count: 2,447 OT4 TCest Drabble sets<br/>Rated: PG-13<br/>Momentary glimpses of life, captured and placed into an album.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshots of Time XVII

** Only Teenagers **

            “Where the heck did all of this stuff come from?” Raph asked as he pulled back the flaps on a large cardboard box.

            “Estate sale,” April answered, carrying a clipboard that held a list of the things she’d purchased.  As Raph kneeled next to the box and began to empty it, April checked off each item, making notes on any damages that had occurred during transit.

            With a grunt, Mikey lugged another box from the back room, his knees bent as he pretended to struggle under its weight.  “Couldn’t you buy stuff that doesn’t weigh so much?”

            “Well if I did that, you guys wouldn’t have anything to do,” April said with a smirk, waving her pen at him.

            Mikey started to drop the box on the floor as payback for that comment, but April’s quirked eyebrow told him that was a bad idea.  With exaggerated care, he set the box down.

            “I can always find other things to do,” Mikey told her.  “Video games, comic books, skateboarding . . . .”

            “Kicking Purple Dragon butt, Foot Clan butt, purse snatcher’s butt,” Raph said, grinning.

            “I’m sure all of those things are very important,” April replied sassily.  “Honest labor is good for you, it rounds out your character.”

            “I guess ya’ figure me and Mikey are the only ones who need our character rounded out,” Raph said a touch sarcastically.

            “Correction, you two were the ones who responded when I mentioned cake,” April reminded him, “and you received your payment in advance.”

            Mikey crossed his arms over his plastron and said, “You know something, Raph?  I don’t think we’re charging enough for our services.”

            “I’ll remember that the next time you beg me to go down to the comic book store with one of your wish lists,” April murmured, examining a vase that Raph handed to her.

            “On the other hand,” Mikey said hastily, “our whole quid pro quo deal works for me.”

            “Do ya’ think he even knows what that means?” Raph asked as he stood up.

            “Oh yes,” April said, taking the vase over to her main counter.  Checking it over with a magnifying glass, she added absentmindedly, “That’s one term I’m positive Mikey understands.”

            “Hardy har har,” Mikey laughed mockingly.  “Very funny.”

            “Come on Mikey, let’s go haul in the rest of that stuff,” Raph said, tapping Mikey’s shoulder.

            April turned as they left the room to call out after them, “Try to remember what the word ‘breakable’ means!”

            She heard Raph mumbling something under his breath and laughed.  This kind of work was tedious and strenuous and April was very glad she had the guys around to help her.  They really were the best things in her life.

            Sighing at the hairline crack she’d discovered in the vase, April set it down and then her stomach grumbled.  She realized that she’d skipped lunch and that her dinner was a ways off.  Walking into the small office in the back of her store, she rummaged around in the tiny refrigerator before finally settling on a pickle to tide her over.

            April had the rather large pickle in her hand when Mikey and Raph came out of the back room with two more boxes.  As she took up the clipboard, she didn’t notice the looks the brothers exchanged.

           “I really am going to have to get Don to help me catalogue some of those antiques,” April said, glancing into the boxes as the turtles flipped the tops back.  Needing both hands, she stuffed the end of the pickle into her mouth and picked up her pen.

            Immediately both Mikey and Raph began to snicker.  April’s eyes flicked up to them but they bit their lips and began to look around the room.  Frowning, she returned to her checklist.

            “Practice makes perfect,” Mikey said out of the blue.

            Raph snorted and then tried to swallow a laugh when April looked up again.  Raph wore as innocent an expression on his face as she’d ever seen, and Mikey was staring at her, his bright blue eyes wide open.

            Shrugging, April returned to her work, taking a moment to enjoy a bite of her pickle.

            “Ouch!” Raph yelped and Mikey exploded with laughter.

            “What is going on with you two?” April asked, giving them an exasperated glare.

            “Nothing,” Raph said, looking like the cat who’d swallowed the canary.

            “We’re just admiring your ch . . . choice of a s . . . snack,” Mikey stammered as he tried not to laugh.

            “Yeah, bigger is always better,” Raph agreed, following the statement with a loud guffaw.

            “As long as it’s nice and j . . . juicy!” Mikey spat out, curling up with mirth.

            April’s mouth dropped open as she finally got the joke.  Looking at the pickle and then back at the brothers, she said, “You two are seriously juvenile.  We’re done for the night.  Go home and don’t come back until you decide to grow up.”

            “Sure thing April,” Raph said, still laughing despite her stern expression.  “Let us know if we should bring some pickles.”

            “Or you know, if you want some bigger ones,” Mikey added, grinning widely.

            “Maybe she wants help with her technique,” Raph supplied, which brought about gales of laughter from his brother.

            April pointed at the door and they quickly exited.  Their hilarity and innuendos continued until they were finally out of her range of hearing.

            With a huff, April set the clipboard on top of a box and began pulling things out of another one.  After a couple of minutes her attention returned to the pickle, her expression turning speculative.  Glancing around to ensure that she was indeed alone, she stuck it into her mouth, sucked on it, and then pushed it deep into her throat.

            Gagging slightly, April pulled it back out and shook her head, saying aloud, “Calm your jets girl, they’re only teenagers.”

 

** Hairless **

            Balancing a tray loaded down with tea things and a bowl of hot rice cakes, Master Splinter exited the kitchen on his way to the entertainment area.  It was time for his ‘shows’ and he was looking forward to discovering what secrets the characters would spill today.

            The sound of the vacuum cleaner echoed through the dojo, but it was far enough away not to be disturbing.  Master Splinter felt a sense of peace at the normalcy of this routine.

            He frowned upon finding that his youngest son Michelangelo had taken up a position standing directly in front of the television array.  Placing the tray on the coffee table, Master Splinter straightened and studied his son’s back.  It was the time of day when his sons were expected to tackle their chores and though Mikey held a dust cloth in one hand, he wasn’t attempting to use it.

            Mikey was apparently oblivious to his father’s presence.  None of the televisions was on and the young turtle appeared to be staring at the blank screens.

            “Is there something wrong with the television?” Master Splinter inquired, worried that such was the case.  “Have you called for Donatello?”

            “Nope and nope,” Mikey answered without moving from his spot.

            Master Splinter’s eyebrow lifted.  Though he might guess as to what was occupying the minds of his other three children at any given time, Michelangelo posed something of a challenge in that regard.  His pursuits were oftentimes quite esoteric and unfathomable.

            Rather than spend time trying to speculate on his son’s odd behavior, Master Splinter had found that it was easier to simply ask.

            When Master Splinter spoke, it was in the clear and concise tone he often used when it was necessary to gain his youngest son’s attention.  “Michelangelo, why are you standing there staring at a blank television screen?”

            “I’m looking at myself,” Mikey answered without elaborating.

            With a sigh of infinite patience, Master Splinter asked, “A mirror might prove to be a more informative tool for that occupation, do you not agree my son?”

            “Donny’s cleaning the bathroom,” Mikey said, tilting his head one way and then the other as he studied his somewhat distorted reflection.  “That stuff he uses burns my nose.”

            “Perhaps your time would be better spent in finishing your own chores,” Master Splinter suggested.  “I am sure that by the time you are done, Donatello will have vacated the bathroom and you may then stare at yourself to your heart’s content.”

            “Nah, I get a better idea of what I’m trying to see from this wavy picture,” Mikey said.

            Master Splinter resisted the urge to rub his forehead.  Sometimes reaching the point of Michelangelo’s strange behavior was like traveling a long and very winding road.  One was often weary before they found the end.

            Since a more direct approach seemed to be called for, Master Splinter asked, “Michelangelo, what is it you are looking for in your reflection?”

            “I’m not actually looking for anything,” Mikey responded with infuriating vagueness.

            Closing his eyes, Master Splinter counted to ten and tried again, raising his voice to compensate for the sound of the vacuum cleaner as it grew louder.  “What is it you are attempting to see?”

            “What I’d look like if I had whiskers,” Mikey announced, stroking an imaginary beard.  “I wonder what it feels like.  Do you think it’s itchy?”

            “I am sure it might be,” Master Splinter said, shoving aside the urge to ask why Mikey had started thinking about facial hair.  “Perhaps more so when it is just growing out.”

            Mikey finally turned around, aiming a quizzical eye at his father.  “Does your fur ever get itchy?” he asked.  “Like, do you ever want to shave it off?”

            In a matter of fact tone, Master Splinter told him, “Rats do not shave, Michelangelo.”

            “Yeah, they just shed,” Raphael said as he walked by pushing the vacuum cleaner.

 

** Gut Instinct **

            The garment district sported some of the most interesting history, the most fascinating landmarks, and some of the more upper class hotels and businesses to be found in New York.

            It also contained some of the most mazelike and confusing alley ways.  This was something the turtles were discovering for themselves as they chased a group of Purple Dragons who had blatantly broken into a fur and leather goods store right before their eyes.

            While the brothers clashed with the gang lookouts, others in the group grabbed armloads of expensive items and fled the building.  As soon as they were clear, the lookouts retreated from the fight, taunting the turtles before racing to catch up to the other thieves.

            Almost as soon as they dashed into the first alley the turtles realized they had entered a labyrinth.  Sound bounced off the walls of the surrounding buildings and very little light filtered in.  If it weren’t for the fact that a couple of the Dragons kept coming back into view to tease and call them names, the brothers might have lost them.

            “Are they complete idiots?” Mikey finally asked.  “I hate to say it, but if they’d shut up we probably wouldn’t catch them.”

            Don sprinted alongside his younger brother as they followed Leo and Raph.  “The answer to your question is yes,” Don said, “they are idiots.  Why else would they have become Purple Dragons?”

            “’Cause they like getting beat up by ninja turtles?” Mikey asked rhetorically.

            The alley they were in split again in a few feet, with intersecting alleyways going in several directions.  Before the turtles could even choose a direction, one of the Purple Dragons stuck his head out from an alley to their left and yelled, “You freaks are slow!  You must be turtles!”

            There was laughter from several voices accompanying his words and then he once more dashed out of sight.

            Following the echoing laughter, the brothers raced on, growing more determined with each passing minute.  Still they didn’t catch anything other than glimpses of their foes, and only those that chose to shout insults at them.

            “They’re playing cat and mouse with us,” Leo said, his tone gruff.

            “Maybe they split up,” Don said.  “The guys with the stolen goods could have gone another direction.”

            “Well I don’t like being made a fool of,” Mikey said.  “I say we catch these guys and pound some information out of them.”

            That was Raph’s cue to say something in agreement.  Still running, the other three turtles waited expectantly, but Raph remained silent.  When Leo glanced over at him, he saw that Raph was wearing a very concentrated expression.

            Before Leo could ask him what he was thinking about, a pair of rocks sailed out of another dark alley.  Raph ducked one of them and Don batted the other aside with his Bo staff.

            “Wait ‘til we tell Master Hun how we walked all over you weirdos tonight!” a spectral voice sang out of the darkness.

            Leo turned towards the sound, Don and Mikey on his heels.  Raph, however, came to a sudden stop.

            Grinding to a halt, his brothers turned to look at him.  “Raph?  What’s the matter?” Leo asked.

            “Something ain’t right,” Raph said, looking all around them.  “This setup feels hinkey.”

            “Hinkey?” Mikey repeated.

            Leo walked closer to Raph.  “How do you know?”

            “My gut,” Raph said, staring at Leo meaningfully.

            Behind them, somewhere in the maze of alleys, they could hear the Purple Dragons jeering at them.  Don and Mikey looked expectantly at Leo, waiting for a decision.

            With a quick glance upwards, Leo told them, “No more chasing them through these alleys.  We’re taking to the roofs.”

            “Why?” Don asked.  “We might not be able to see any of them from up there.”

            Looking at Raph again, Leo said quietly, “I trust his gut.”

            They pair nodded at each other and took to the nearest fire escape, vaulting their way up to the roof tops.  Once up there, the brothers could hear the faint sounds of the gang members they were chasing and took up the pursuit.

            Before long the voices grew louder and it was obvious others had joined the Dragons.  They were approaching a row of shorter buildings and Leo held up his hand to stop his brothers when he saw shadows on those roof tops.

            Squatting low, the turtles slinked to the edge of the roof and looked down.  Hiding on the opposite roofs were a dozen Purple Dragons, obviously lying in wait.

            “Ambush,” Leo whispered with satisfaction, tapping his fist against Raph’s.  “Your gut is still batting a thousand.”

            Eyes glinting, Raph gave his older brother a cocky grin and asked, “How about we pull a little ambush of our own?”

            Smiling impishly in return, Leo said, “By all means.  Lead the way.”


End file.
